#ka sera sera

[bihexuals-blog]

[[ ka-sera-sera ]]

alejandra has treated herself to some orange julius after a long four hour shift at victoria’s secret. She’s dragging the straw through the sweet slush as she walks out of the mall toward the bus stop, when her eyes light on someone...other. the otherness of him radiates, some combination of his grizzled face, clothes, the way he stands: everything. ever curious, she walks right up to him, cocking her head.

“is you lost or somethin, mister?”

[catchingghostsinmyteeth-blog1]

ka-sera-sera

[ The thing annoying him the most about the new time is not having a weapon within reach.

    So he might be throwing kitchen knifes at the wall. Blame him. ]

[servethefuckingbeam]

Do you ever ship something really hard but the problem is you just don't know how you ship it? Like srsly, are you guys romantic, platonic, some sort of family...

[txrning-blog]

ka-sera-sera

   He is... irritated, to say the very least.

   However, to pretend he had no clue just why he suddenly changed direction, to why he suddenly felt like having a very define destination, that'd be rubbish, and not honest to himself. It's the smell — far, thin, easy to miss and something people wouldn't even notice if right next to it's origin, but there's a faint trail that made him... curios. 

   It's foreign, easy as that, and not easy at all. It's not the foreign smell each of those tourists brings, but much more off. Something in no connection to anything known, and that has caught his interest. 

   Damn, he knows he's making a mistake by checking, he knows he should just go on, pretend he didn't notice but —

   He follows that trail anyway. 

[catchingghostsinmyteeth-blog1]

things to do when in better mood:

- roland's replies both here and on eddie

- srsly working eddie's theme over at least the tiny writing i'm so sorry

- not sobbing about eddie dean.

- not.

- not.

- doing it a lot.

[catchingghostsinmyteeth-blog1]

    There are things he never said. Neither here, not back then, and that he wouldn't say now. As unbelievable as it sounds, there are actually quite a lot of things he never said aloud, and never would. They just weren't — fitting.

    Another soul might spent sleepless nights to give them a home in the empty air, but that would not be a thing wise, never was. Things said aloud would always be heard, even if just by an asleep mind, and he was pretty sure that Roland would the latest wake when he would even say a single word, most likely much sooner. It's obvious, so that would be an unnecessary risk, after all.

    He doesn't like this place. He could sleep, if he wanted to, could always sleep if it was needed, but he felt the necessarity of that not yet, so he's instead sitting on the floor, back against the wall and beside the old friend, listening to the strange noises of this world. He's aware they don't mean danger, not to him here at least, but most of them are still — irritating. Few that he recognizes, like yelling, the barking of a dog, and — gunshots, far, far away. That seems to happen a lot, here. He wonders why.

    But those are questions for daylight, some that might actually leave his lips in spite of others, and for waiting for the other to wake again. He'll not wake him if not needed — it seems he very much needs the rest, and that alone hurts.

    He'll wait. He always did.

[demonnamedheroin]

His movements might be a bit hesitant when he stumbles back in, and there might be drops of light red on his shirt and his temple, bright against light skin and fabric both. He is, however, quiet in his moving, much more so than he would have been the last time he came home like that, bruises coloring all over his skin. It's late, and he doesn't mean to wake the other — even less like this.

[catchingghostsinmyteeth-blog1]

"Roland. Hey. Sleepy head. Ro-land."

He's bored and you're asleep. The fact it's like four in the morning doesn't count. Besides, he knows you've woken up ever since he moved.